You drew your fist back, pausing to examine the blood dripping from your knuckles. I stood in the doorway, watching the rain slowly dissolve the blood from his face. He lay crumpled over with his nose pouring out, disfigured. You looked over at me and our eyes met. I think I should of known then that I had become the world I despised but I just turned away, bracing against the wall as I heard you swing at him again. I felt dizzy. I felt the ground beneath me lurch in fear for us all. I walked to the table, scraping the floor as I pulled out a chair. Sat. Staring. Breathing. Waiting. I heard you shouting but could only make out fragments of what you were saying, ” Dirty….. Scumbag.. your skull… I will teach you a lesson for trespassing on my land…” Then silence. Then the distinct crunching of bone? No, to firm, your feet heavy against the ground crossing the path between the house and the shed. I was almost tempted to stand up and force myself to watch from the window. Instead, I began paging through a magazine in the table, sticky and outdated. We never read anymore. Mind’s gone to mush like the molding and rotting food in the fridge that reminds me of the constant embrace of hunger. Ask the neighbors for help. I have told you a million times but you just won’t listen. Would they help us anyway. Sure they have more than enough, but why not keep it from themselves. A little wastefulness never hurt anybody. Or that is what you told me they must think with the way they scrap their plates into the trash after only eating two thirds. It is people like that who make me sick. People like that who have no regards for anybody but themselves. I thought about that yesterday also as I was brushing my hair, examining myself in the mirror. Would you believe that I considered smashing it? I knew how mad that would make you. I knew your face would tense and that ugly vein would bulge in your neck and your teeth would grind and I would watch your arms twitch and neither of us would do anything about the shards of glass lying on the bedroom floor. Yet, for a moment, I was still tempted to snatch up the sled-hammer from the shed and destroy what was destroying.
I finally get up, hearing your footsteps again, this time striding towards the house. I see the red stain the knob as your grotesque hands struggle to get a grip and turn it. You stand in the frame waiting for me to say something but what is there to say.
” Are you upset?” You finally prompt.
I can feel my jaw twitching, trembling, fighting to say the sort of things that could change the world. What would the point be though? Nothing I say could change you. I finally manage to stammer out one incoherent sentence.
” He was … I..inno..cent, you didn’t h..h have to d d..o that to him.”
I’m sobbing now, the paint in my veins is peeling off its walls. I’m on the floor, clenching my knees to my chest, and gasping for air. Your on top of me, screaming something about how it is your right, your freedom, how this place isn’t what is used to be, how freedom ain’t free anymore because of soft hearted, accepting women like me, how a man has got to do what a man has got to do to keep things running smoothly. I feel a clump of my hair rip from its roots, and your lifting my head now, slamming it down rough on the cold tiles. “You understand? You understand now?” You spit against my torn scalp. Your knee rests in the cavern of my twisted spine and you stop. You stop and then get up and go to the sink, splashing tainted water all over the counter tops as you cleanse your grime. I hear you open the cupboard and grab a glass,and turn the water back on. I can feel your eyes tunneling through me. I know you are leaning against the counter, drinking, watching me watch myself watch the world. I can’t get up. Minutes pass. You set the glass down with a thud and walk back over to me. You pull me up, sit me in a chair and silently walk out. Minutes pass. You walk back in and begin wiping my mouth, my jaw, my head, with a ratty t-shirt. I see your hands are still slightly stained and now I add to that. I’m stone eyed. I can’t breathe. You stop. You don’t even say you are sorry. You just stop wiping the evidence away. They all do it that way. But you, you just stopped and then you kiss me. You pull away as if you are the disgusted one and leave the room. I quickly wipe the mildew from my lips; I feel you working your way into my lungs, the rancid toxicity of your saliva boring holes in the roof of my mouth.
I grow dizzy again but I don’t dare stand. I hear the t.v turn on in the other room, imagine you slinking down into its rut. The murmuring news.Something terrible has happened and I don’t need the news to tell me so. I turn around and stand slowly, walking to the window. The sky is a cacophony of purple, yellow and fading blue but underneath it all is a trickle of red. He still is lying out in the driveway but there is a finality about him now. A serenity veiled by your brutality. I don’t even cry anymore. I just hold on to the edge of the counter , rocking up and down on the balls of my feet, with the news in one corner of my mind and his dull, hollow eyes caked in blood staring at me across the drive.
– Eva M.M.
I don’t share my stories or scenes with you very much but this one I really wanted to share. I feel though it is gruesome and rough at the edges, it has some message in it for everybody. The message different people get from it may be different but I hope everybody can walk away with something.
Thank you for reading and stopping by. If you are new to 1withthepen feel free to ask me a little bit about my blog and writing. As always I love hearing from anybody in the comments.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”